


Sick Like Me

by Jetsetlife138



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Apocalypse
Genre: Antichrist, Dubious Consent, F/M, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Multi, My First Work in This Fandom, Oral Sex, Reader-Insert, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Smut, Work In Progress, michael loses his virginity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2019-11-07
Packaged: 2021-01-06 04:31:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21220619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jetsetlife138/pseuds/Jetsetlife138
Summary: You meet a man claiming to be the Antichrist through your aunt's Satanic church. Will he lead you into darkness, or will you lure him into the light? Either way, he makes it very difficult for you to keep your composure...





	1. Chapter 1

The sense of hopelessness weighed heavy on the young Antichrist. After spending four days alone in the wilderness in an unsuccessful attempt to receive direction from his absent father, he was filthy, starving, and exhausted. He felt dejected and empty - lost and without a purpose as he sat on the pavement against the chilled brick of the building in the alley that he aimlessly wandered down, alone and desperate for a sign.  


Holding his head in his hands, he leaned forward to prop his elbows on his crossed legs while he rested his eyes, trying to make sense of his existence.  


“Excuse me, sir?”    
  
The soft, feminine voice caused him to look up, squinting in the light as his eyes fought to focus on his visitor.    
  
When he didn’t verbally acknowledge your presence, you asked again, “Hey, excuse me, sir… are you okay?”    
  
“What’s it to you?” he mumbled skeptically, trying to portray himself as standoffish, but instead sounding pitiful and weak.    
  
“I just…” you began, struggling for words. “You look like you could use some food and water. Or somewhere to rest at the very least. I’m on my way somewhere that can help. Do you want to come with me?”    
  
“That’s… actually really nice of you,” he replied, his voice thick with emotion.    
  
Grinning wryly, you extended a hand to help him up. He took it gratefully, raising to his feet, suddenly towering over you. He could get a better look at you now that you weren’t standing with the sun behind you.   


He noted that you had a kind face and a welcoming smile, which was something he wasn’t accustomed to. Hanging from your arm was a basket of pamphlets with a plain black cover, not revealing the purpose of them.    
  
Still gripping his hand, you gave him a firm shake as you introduced yourself. “I’m Y/N.”    
  
He returned your gesture with as much force as he could muster, which wasn’t much. “My name is Michael. Michael Langdon.”   
  
“It’s really nice to meet you, Michael,” you replied, releasing his hand.    
  
He flexed his fingers at his side at the absence of your touch, not used to the kindness of others. A pang of grief surged through his mind at the memory of Ms. Mead, the only person to genuinely care for him, and who was now gone.   
  
“Come on,” you urged. “It’s not far at all. Just another block down the alley.”    
  
He limped beside you, his legs still recovering from kneeling on the hard ground for four days straight. As you walked, he took notice of the way that you had walked with a purposely slow pace so that he could easily keep up. Only a few minutes later, the two of you had reached an opening in the alley, leading you to the back of an industrial building. Michael paused, hesitating when he noticed an a Satanic emblem in the form of an upside-down cross painted on the corner.   


“Michael?” you called out when you noticed his delay. “You okay?”    
  
He nodded, dismissing the symbol and following you towards a back door leading into the building with a gruff-looking man sitting on a stool next to it. “Hey, Mo,” you greeted happily.   


The man looked to be in his early 50’s, with a disgruntled expression, adorned with a worn leather jacket to add to the intimidating appearance. Though he appeared threatening, his demeanor was friendly. “Hiya, Y/N. What brings you here?”  


“I brought these for Aunt Madelyn,” you answered, raising your arm holding the basket of pamphlets. “Hannah had asked her to order these for the potluck on Wednesday, but she didn’t have time to pick them up from the store, so I told her I’d bring them by.”

He nodded, grumbling in acknowledgment while his eyes darted between you and Michael. “Y/N, you know you have to actually  _ be _ a member in order to have guest privileges, right?”

“Mo, come on,” you pleaded. “He just needs some water, and I  _ know _ you guys are hoarding donuts in there. Just this once?”  


Michael appeared baffled at the way you easily manipulated the man with your sweet voice and batting eyelashes, turning him into putty in your hands.  


With an eye roll, Mo sighed heavily before standing from the stool and opening the door. “You owe me one.”  


“You’re seriously the best,” you praised, beaming at him before the two of you slipped inside.  


“Mhm,” he muttered before closing the door behind you.  


Leading Michael down the stairs into the below ground chambers, you thought it best to warn him before descending to the wolves. “So, um… this is probably going to be a little weird for you, but just keep to yourself and don’t judge too harshly. Everyone here is off their rocker, but they’re harmless. Mostly.”  


“What do you mean?”

“You’ll see,” you warned, reaching the entry into the chamber.  


Entering the grand room, you gauged Michael’s reaction to the church hall, which was adorned in red and black with pews of people facing the upside-down cross at the front. He seemed completely in awe and at a loss for words as he took in his surroundings.  


“She’s almost done,” you informed him, nodding towards Hannah, the High Priestess dressed in a bright red robe preaching to the congregation. “Let’s take a seat and as soon as she’s done, we’ll get you some food and water, okay?”

He nodded gratefully, following as you walked toward the pews. You had noticed your aunt in the back row and quietly sat next to her, motioning for Michael to join you.    
  
Hannah was ranting, berating the congregation for not being sinful enough and insisting that they should be ashamed of failing Satan in hopes of helping to bring about the end times. Resisting the urge to roll your eyes, you kept your focus on Michael, wondering when this would be too weird for him and he’d go running for the door. Much to your surprise, he didn’t. He was hooked on every word she spoke, though you noticed that he seemed somewhat… disappointed? Odd.

You thought for sure that when Hannah had confessed to robbing a nursing home and donating the money to the NRA that he would bail, but instead, tears trailed down his face as he lifted his hand to mask his sadness. It was hard not to offer words of encouragement, but you thought it best to leave him be.  


Your Aunt Madelyn pulled your focus when she handed you the collection plate, to which you replied with a glare. “Not happening.” You were all for freedom of religion, but if they thought for one minute that you would monetarily contribute to their absurdity, they were even more insane than they appeared.  


“Well, what about your friend?” she asked, motioning to Michael.  


His eyes flickered to the collection plate before he addressed her pathetically, “I don’t have any money.”    
  
She offered him a sympathetic glance before passing the plate to the row in front of her. “Or any food from the looks of it. How long has it been since you ate, kid?”    
  
“That’s why I brought him here,” you informed her.   


“To offer him stale donuts?” she inquired, narrowing her eyes at you, which you met with an annoyed glance. Ignoring your stare, she looked past you to Michael. “I live just a couple of blocks up the street. I can offer you a hot meal if you’d like.”  


With tears in his eyes, he nodded gratefully. Leaning in closer to your aunt, you whispered in her ear, “Are you seriously going to let a strange homeless man in your house? Not that I don’t condone kindness, especially from a Satanist, but don’t you think that’s a little dangerous?”  


“Well, nobody’s perfect. Besides, he seems harmless,” she gestured, looking him over. “Honestly, we could use all of the new members we can get.”    
  
“I didn’t bring him here so that you could recruit him to your freaky sinners anonymous group,” you hissed under your breath.   


“No one’s recruiting anyone, dear. If he’s here, it’s because our Dark Lord led him here. He’s right where he’s supposed to be.”    
  
Rolling your eyes, you sighed heavily, knowing that arguing with her over this kind of thing was a lost cause. A simple gesture of thoughtfulness was quickly spiraling into a homeless housing situation, which made you nervous. Not that Michael had creepy vibes or anything like that, but he was clearly going through something that was devastating enough to leave him in this state, and you weren’t sure you wanted your family caught up in whatever he had going on.   


Once the service wrapped up, you and your aunt escorted Michael to her home where she had prepared a hot beef stew. You watched Michael carefully as he sat in silence, not meeting your eyes unless you addressed him with a direct question.  


While Madelyn was putting the finishing touches on the stew, you sat with Michael at the dinner table, twiddling your thumbs in the awkward silence until you couldn’t help but try to make conversation.  


“So,” you began, causing his eyes to flicker to you from his lap. “Do you want to talk about what happened to you?”  


Shrugging his shoulders, it appeared that he was too emotionally drained to talk about whatever had led him here, so you changed the subject. “Look, don’t let Aunt Madelyn scare you off with her rants about worshiping the devil. She’s a little nuts, but she doesn’t mean any harm”  


“You believe that she’s mentally impaired because she has dedicated her life to Satan?”  


His question made you hesitate for a moment as you tried to determine the amount of sarcasm attached to it. It didn’t seem he had any malicious intent, but was simply curious.

“I think that everyone has their own way of trying to find their purpose in life. Worshiping something mythical like Satan and trying to bring about the end times if my aunt’s messed up way of coping.”  
  
“You’re convinced that Satan is a myth?” he pressed further, carefully gauging your reaction.   


Giving him a wry smile, you replied, “I don’t know what I believe. If you asked my aunt, she’d tell you that Satan has blessed her with riches beyond her wildest dreams.” For dramatic affect, you gestured around the run-down house to emphasize your sarcasm. “But I don’t think that I could ever get behind something that encourages such evil and hatred towards others. It just doesn’t feel right.”  


Pursing his lips slightly, he continued to look you up and down, making you squirm in your seat as his heated gaze started to become uncomfortable. The corner of his mouth lifted slightly into a smirk as he seemed to realize the affect his intense gaze had on you. “How noble of you,” he finally commented, keeping his voice even so that you couldn’t determine if he was being genuine or sarcastic.  


You didn’t have the chance to ask him to clarify before your aunt came in with the food, talking about how inspiring the service was today and how she wished you’d give it a chance.  


Too caught up in observing your new guest, you didn’t bother to argue with her. Instead, you were focused the way Michael listened intently to her every word in fascination as he ate. Though he must have been starving, he took his time eating, savoring the meal as if he weren’t sure when he would get another. It was endearing in a weird way.    
  
When she started on the morbid subject of selling her soul at a Black Mass, you cut her off, intent on changing the subject. Though you had heard of what selling your soul at a Black Mass entailed, you never truly believed that your aunt was capable of taking someone’s life. You had figured that it was more a fable than anything else. Regardless, it wasn’t something that you would encourage her to proudly confess to a stranger.   


Michael, ever the curious one, pressed further with a hint of facetiousness, “Did you sign a contact in blood?”  


You couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped you at the absurdity of it all, which your aunt didn’t appreciate. “Y/N, this isn’t a joke. Look at what the Dark Lord has blessed me with!”

You exchanged a telling glance with Michael, recalling your previous conversation. He smirked again as he chewed on a mouthful of bread while she continued to list all of the material items that she received as a gift for her dedication.

Oblivious to your silent exchange, she continued, “Every Wednesday night, Brad Pitt comes over and fucks me till the sun comes up. On Friday nights I get Ryan Reynolds.”   
  
Slapping your hand over your face in embarrassment, you couldn’t find the words to excuse your aunt’s delusions, so you remained quiet, allowing Michael to be entertained. However, when you looked at him, he didn’t seem amused. Instead, he appeared dejected as he commented, “So that's all it is then. Satan is carnal pleasure.”   
  
Shaking her head in denial, Madelyn continued, “Hell no! We've got a greater purpose. We are moving towards the beginning of the end. Our Savior is coming! A spawn of Satan will lead us off of a cliff and into the end times! We just have to make things terrible enough for him to rise. We are the rancid, contaminated soil from which he will bloom and then plunge us in eternal darkness so that we can walk with Satan in eternal hellfire!”   
  
He wasn't fazed at all by her rantings. In fact, he seemed somewhat guilty. You couldn't understand his expression, but it made you uneasy. “I hate to break it to you... but you’re waiting in vain.”    
  
Taken aback by his statement, you turned to Madelyn quick enough to see her snatch the food from Michael’s reach, her expression livid as she got up from the table to put the food away without another word.  "What are you talking about?" she hissed, refusing to look at him.  
  
Sighing heavily, Michael met your eyes before he followed his previous statement in a melancholic tone, “I’m the one you’re waiting for.” 


	2. Chapter 2

Your mind was reeling. A random homeless man that your crazy aunt had invited into her home had basically just declared himself as the Antichrist without even a hint of humor in his voice. He didn’t seem proud, or scared, or confident at all. He just seemed… lost.   
  
“How dare you blaspheme!” Madelyn bellowed, causing you to nearly jump out of your skin at the unexpected reaction. 

Before you could properly assess the situation, she had a large knife to Michael’s throat, already drawing blood at the pressure of the blade against his skin. “Aunt Madelyn!” you shouted, stumbling out of your chair. “What the fuck are you doing?!”  
  
Michael remained eerily calm and collected as he addressed Madelyn in a firm tone. “Before you kill me, dear believer… see me.”   
  
It was then your aunt’s eyes flickered to a spot behind his ear close to his hairline. She faltered for a moment before hastily removing the knife and staggering away from him. Her expression was in complete disbelief and awe as she fell to her knees beside him. “Hail Satan!”   
  
Michael gave you an awkward glance, as if he was slightly embarrassed by Madelyn’s reaction, but also challenging you to argue. 

“He has the mark of the beast!” Madelyn wailed, bowing continuously. 

“Excuse me?” you retorted, still not comprehending how the situation could have taken such a strange turn. “What are you talking about?” 

Michael rose to his feet, causing you to instinctively step back to keep as much space as possible between the two of you. He paused for a moment, tilting his head and raising his hands defensively to show you that he meant no harm. Still hesitant, you allowed him to come closer as he raised his arm to pull his hair to the side and show you the mark. 

When you inspected it closer, it initially looked like a brand that had been botched. It wasn’t until you focused that you could see the number _ 666 _grouped together messily on his skin. Raising your eyebrows, you fought the urge to laugh at how gullible your aunt was. “Oh… wow,” you commented, feigning fascination. “That’s… interesting.” 

He furrowed his brow, clearly bothered by your underwhelmed reaction. “You don’t believe me.” 

It was clear that you and your aunt had made a grave mistake by allowing this man into her home. He was obviously delusional and you needed to separate yourself from him as quickly as possible. “I think you should leave,” you insisted, trying to keep your voice even so as not to upset him even more. 

“No!” Madelyn argued, raising from her crouched position. “He’s my guest! We will reveal him to the congregation tomorrow!”   
  
“Aunt Madelyn, I don’t think-” 

“Hush,” she interrupted, gripping Michael’s arm and escorting him past you. “Come, Michael, you need to rest. Let me show you to the guest bedroom. It is my honor to host you.” 

“You’ve _ got _to be kidding,” you muttered angrily. “This is not a good idea!” 

“You can leave whenever you want, dear,” she insisted over her shoulder as you followed her down the hall. 

“And leave you here with a stranger? I don’t think so.” 

“Oh, but he’s not a stranger,” she countered as she stopped to gaze at him in awe, grinning widely with tears in her eyes. “He’s here to save us.”

Ignoring your blatant scoff, she led Michael into the guest bedroom, which had a full-sized bed, a dresser, and a desk. It wasn’t much, but it was charmingly plain. You had spent many nights here in your youth, always having had a close relationship with your aunt. 

After taking a moment to inspect the room and ultimately deciding that it would suffice, he turned to address you. “Where will you be sleeping?” 

“Uh… I…” you stammered, caught off guard. Why should that matter to him?

“She has her own apartment across town,” Madelyn answered on your behalf. “But if she wants to stay, she can have the couch.”

He stepped aside, gesturing towards the bed. “Would you rather take the bedroom?”   
  
Narrowing your eyes at him, you brushed him off quickly. “No. I’ll take the couch. I won’t be sleeping much anyway,” you warned, hoping he would get the hint that you had every intention of watching his every move.

He grinned, amused by your blatant suspicion. “Very well.”   
  
“Get some rest, Michael! The bathroom is down the hall and the left. Everything you need is in there. Please, help yourself to anything you desire.” Madelyn wasn’t usually one to play host, but you supposed that for the Antichrist impersonator, she had made an exception. 

Once the door was closed, you immediately opened your mouth to argue with her, to which she lifted her hand in dismissal. “I don’t want to hear another word. This is my house. If you don’t like it, go home.” 

Despite her harsh words, she leaned in and gave you a loving kiss on the forehead. “Goodnight, kiddo.” 

“Yeah, sure. Whatever,” you mumbled in return.   
  
After locating scattered pillows and blankets around the house, you created a make-shift bedding on the floral-print sofa in your aunt’s living room. Making yourself comfortable, you watched the entryway to the hallway like a hawk, preparing yourself for any kind of foul-play from the deranged stranger. 

Alone with your thoughts, you cursed yourself for allowing this to happen. You were just trying to be nice to the guy. What harm could offering some water and stale donuts to a homeless man do, especially someone who seemed so defeated? It wasn’t in your nature to be cruel or neglectful of the needs of others, but now because of you, the two of you were at risk of getting slaughtered in your sleep. 

Eventually, despite your best efforts, you drifted off, lost in a dreamless sleep until something woke you. Your eyes fluttered open, your body aching from being in the same position for too long, urging you to turn over. Groaning, you flipped around, not expecting to be met with a pair of intense blue eyes.   
  
Instinctually gasping to release a shriek, Michael’s hand moved quickly to cover your mouth, muffling the sounds of your screams. He placed a finger to his lips, shushing you as you scrambled back, trying to distance yourself from him, which didn’t really do anything since you were trapped between him and the back of the couch. You then noticed that he was kneeling on the floor next to the couch. Had he been watching you sleep?! What kind of fucked up Twilight shit was going on?!   
  
Finally, he removed his hands, lifting them defensively. “I didn’t mean to scare you,” he whispered urgently. “I’m sorry.”   
  
Your heart was hammering against your chest as you fought to catch your breath, shaking from the unexpected intrusion. Struggling to find words, you just stared at him, waiting for him to explain further. 

His expression was guilty, as if he truly felt badly for scaring you. “I’m really sorry,” he repeated, scooting back on the floor just a bit to give you some room. “I thought that you would be awake.” 

Finally finding your voice, you hissed, “What the hell are you doing out here?”

Shrugging his shoulders, he replied casually, “Couldn’t sleep.”   
  
“So you decided to watch me instead?” you snapped, flipping the blankets off of you while you sat up.   
  
“No…” he began awkwardly. “I was just… I was hoping for some company. I see that I’ve upset you. I’ll go back to the room.”   
  
As he got up and turned to leave, you sighed heavily, knowing you weren’t going to fall back asleep after having that slight heart attack. “Wait,” you called after him.   
  
He halted, facing you once again with a somewhat hopeful gleam in his eye. “I’m gonna make some tea. Do you want some?” you offered.   
  
The corners of his mouth turned up into a slight grin. “I’d like that very much.”   
  
Before you got up, you took a moment to inspect him, now able to fully comprehend his appearance after your episode. He had showered at some point, all of the grime and dirt now gone, revealing his cherub-like face. His hair fell gracefully in golden waves; messy, and yet somehow appearing styled. His filthy clothes were replaced with a form-fitting dark gray t-shirt and black pajama pants. 

As if he could read your thoughts, he replied to your unspoken question. “I found them in a drawer. I hope Madelyn doesn’t mind.” Nodding your head, you remembered your aunt had her fair share of suitors over the years who had left items here and there, establishing an array of items for Michael to choose from. As far as you knew, they were up for grabs.   
  
Rubbing your eyes, you got up from the couch, waving your hand at him to follow you into the kitchen. After grabbing the kettle, filling it with water and placing it on the stove, you leaned against the counter, facing Michael. “So,” you began tiredly. “The Antichrist, huh?”   
  
His eyes locked onto yours as his expression remained indifferent, slowly placing his hands behind his back as he adjusted his posture. “Does that frighten you?”   
  
“It might,” you answered, shrugging your shoulders. “If it were true.”   
  
“So quick to dismiss the possibility,” he commented, furrowing his brow as he inspected you. “Are you always so skeptical and pessimistic?”   
  
You chuckled quietly, entertained by his commitment to the part he was playing. “I’m a realist, and from what I can tell, you’re an opportunist.”   
  
“How so?” he asked, taking a step forward, still gazing at your curiously. 

“It’s smart, really,” you praised facetiously. “Making yourself seem sad, lost, and alone, positioning yourself right down the block from a Satanic church? You must have seen me coming from a mile away, and I was gullible enough to fall for it.” 

His jaw tightened while he clenched his teeth, fracturing his composed expression. You were getting under his skin, and it was obviously affecting him. 

Suddenly, the fire from the stove erupted, nearly singeing off your hair - and it would have, had you not moved so quickly. Cautiously, you went to investigate, until it seemed like the temperature in the room dropped 20 degrees in an instant. 

Shivering, you wrapped your arms around yourself, turning to face Michael to see if he had felt the change or if you were going crazy. A gasp escaped you when you saw his once blue eyes, turn white and vacant as he lifted his arms into the air, like he was summoning something. 

“Michael?” you asked, now partially convinced that you were not yet awake, and was instead having a nightmare. 

He closed his eyes and rolled his shoulders, loosening his muscles before opening them again. The blue of his iris’ had returned as he smiled at you before turning to look up towards the ceiling. Following his example, you also glanced up, not at all prepared for what you saw. 

Snow. Actual fucking snow was falling from the ceiling in your aunt’s kitchen. Your jaw literally dropped at the sight as you reached your hand up to catch some in the air, bringing it back down to see it melt in the palm of your hand. 

It was hauntingly beautiful, and you couldn’t fathom how this was occurring. You weren’t dreaming. This was really happening. Holy shit. Cue panic attack. 

Your eyes must have been the size of baseballs as you turned back to Michael, lost for words as you took in his smug expression. “Nothing to say?” he mocked, enjoying every minute of this. 

Swallowing thickly, it took you a moment to find your voice again. When you finally did, you choked out, “W-why are you here?” 

He tilted his head again, his smirk widening as he approached you, causing you to back up into until you couldn’t anymore. Having no where else to go, you stood still as he reached you, placing his arms on either side of you as he pressed his palms against the wall. Still shivering, both from the cold and also from his freaky display of power, you only then noticed the heat emitting from his body, partly tempting you to curl into him for some relief against the chill in the air.   
  
Pressing his lips against your ear, he whispered, “Weren’t you listening today?” You shook your head slightly, indicating your confusion as to which part he was referring to.   
  
“I’m here to bring about the end times and lead you all into darkness.”

He pulled back then, reading your reaction as your eyes flickered across his sharp features, not able to stop the next sentence that spilled from your mouth. 

“Is that what you want?”

He faltered, knitting his brows as if the thought had never occurred to him. “What?”

“Um… ending the world. Bringing about darkness. Is that what you want to do?” 

He sneered, pulling away from you then, letting his arms fall to his sides, allowing you to take a relaxed breath. “It’s what I’m supposed to do.”   
  
“That doesn’t answer my question.” 

You had no idea where the ability to be so forward with him came from, but you couldn’t seem to stop. He was thoughtful for a moment, formulating his answer before he finally spoke. “No one has asked me that before. I’ve always been told that this was my purpose. I never had a choice.” 

A wave of pity washed over you as you noticed the sadness in his eyes. “Michael, you always have a choice.” 

His focus flickered from your eyes to your mouth, lingering there before meeting your eyes again. You didn’t miss the way his tongue darted out to wet his lips before he took his bottom lip in between his teeth, biting for a brief moment. 

The next thing you knew, his warm, plush lips were on yours, devouring your mouth, and eradicating any argument you may have had to your current predicament. 


	3. Chapter 3

Stilling for a moment, you couldn’t help but give into the kiss, relishing in the way his soft, supple lips moved against yours tenderly. Gaining clarity after a few moments of bliss, you suddenly realized how absurd this was. You yelped, shoving him off of you and ending the mesmerizing kiss.    
  
“Michael, what the hell?” you snapped, wiping your mouth, but secretly missing the feeling of his lips against yours.    
  
His eyes were wide as he struggled to respond, his jaw going slack as he panicked, trying to find his words. “I-I’m sorry. I… I’ve never had the urge to do that before.”    
  
“Urge to what? Force your mouth on an unsuspecting victim in a stranger’s kitchen?” you asked sarcastically. Considering he had just proven himself to be an incredibly powerful being, it probably wasn’t the smartest decision to sass him, but it was always your go-to defense mechanism, and apparently you couldn’t help yourself. 

His eyes remained locked onto yours, his expression curious, which confused you. That’s when it occurred to you what he was saying. “That… no. Tell me that wasn’t your first kiss.”    
  
Sheepishly, he shrugged his shoulders, giving you all the answers you needed. “How can that be? How old are you?”    
  
Straightening his posture, he replied, “I was born in 2012, but I’ve aged rapidly since then. One could guess that my approximate age would be in my mid-twenties by now.”    
  
You grimaced, not hiding your disdain at all. “You’re shitting me. You’ve been alive less than a decade?”    
  
“Yes.”    
  
“But… somehow you’ve abruptly aged both mentally and physically to your twenties in less than half the time?”    
  
“I don’t understand how I can be any more clear,” he commented sardonically, furrowing his brow. Clearly, he was bored with this topic.    
  
“I just…” you stammered, still taken aback by the bizarre information. “It’s a difficult concept to grasp, Michael. You have to know that.” 

He nodded with a heavy sigh. “I do.”    
  
Further contemplating his words, you couldn’t help but ask, “So… technically speaking... are you still a child?”    
  
He grinned sinisterly, tilting his head to the side to give you a pitied expression before placing his hands behind his back and stepping towards you. “Do I look like a child to you?”   
  
“N-no,” you stuttered, not liking his predatory stare as he approached you.    
  
He hummed in agreement as he closed in on you, reaching forward to take a piece of your hair and run it through his fingers before tucking it behind your ear. “Well then,” he breathed, leaning forward as he towered over you. “I guess that answers that.” 

With a smirk gracing his lips, he backed off, turning around and settling on the other side of the kitchen, leaning against the counter as he watched your baffled expression gleefully. 

As if on cue, the kettle for the tea started to whistle, indicating that the water was boiled and ready to serve. Grateful for the break from his intense eye-contact, you turned your back to him, grabbing the kettle and preparing the tea. The awareness that he was watching your every move made your body shiver. 

Once the tea was prepared, you grabbed the mugs and headed for the dining room, placing his mug in his hands as you passed him, refusing to meet his eyes. You sat at the table, warming your hands on the warm porcelain before being joined by Michael shortly after. 

Setting the mug down to cool, you finally worked up the courage to address him again. “So, why do you hate the world so much?”    
  
“What gives you that impression?” he asked cooly, his voice as smooth as silk. 

Scoffing, you replied, “Why else would you want to end it? Is there another reason why you want to kill seven billion people and end life as we know it?”    
  
His grin widened, as his hands tightly gripped the mug despite its scalding surface. “I don’t owe you an explanation.”    
  
Glaring at him, you countered sarcastically, “Oh, sure. It’s not like my aunt and I saved your ass from the streets or anything. And it’s not like we’re one of the seven billion people that you want to kill off.”    


His eyes flashed at you, probably annoyed at your lack of respect and for bringing attention to his moment of weakness. “I am grateful for your hospitality. However, this is my sole purpose. I was created to remake the world in my father’s image, and that is exactly what I am going to do.”    


“That’s bullshit,” you accused, causing him to raise his eyebrows at your audacity. “Like I said before, you make your own choices. You’re the only one in charge of your own life.” 

“If only it were that simple,” he purred, tilting his head at you in pity.    
  
It was obvious that you weren’t going to get anywhere with him on this topic. You had to just hope that you could learn more about him and maybe try to convince him that ending the world wasn’t his only option. It would take time, but he didn’t seem to be in any hurry to destroy humanity.    
  
“So, what were you doing out in the alley anyway? If Satan really is your old man, then why didn’t he help you out when you were on the brink of death?” you questioned with a not-so-subtle accusatory undertone.    
  
Though he seemed to be enjoying your banter, the grin faded from his face and was replaced with grief. “I lost someone very dear to me. My Ms. Mead was taken from me. I was lost, and when I turned to my father for guidance, I was only met with more questions. I was probably at my lowest when you found me.” 

“Ms. Mead? Was that your mom?”    
  
“No, my mother tried to kill me.” he answered nonchalantly as if it were a common occurrence. “Ms. Mead cared for me when no one else did. She gave me purpose and helped me to realize who I am and why I’m here. I owe her everything.”    
  
His eyes welled up at the memory of his lost loved one, and before you could even contemplate your actions, your hand reached forward to his, gripping it gently in reassurance. His eyes flickered to yours, gazing at you intently.    
  
After a moment of falling prey to his plea for affection, you snapped out of it, pulling your hand back as your cheeks flushed with embarrassment.    
  
You  _ almost  _ felt bad for the guy. He had a way of emitting genuine sadness that triggered the gullible caretaker inside of you, but you couldn’t allow yourself to be fooled by his attempts to sway you.    
  
He then stood up before walking to your side of the table and kneeling down next to you, reaching up to confidently brush a piece of hair out of your face before tucking it behind your ear, similar to the way he did previously. “May I kiss you again?”    
  
You inhaled sharply, not expecting that at all. If you were being honest with yourself, you were intrigued by him. He was powerful, unique, and ridiculously attractive. It would be easy to give in to his request, especially considering how long it had been since you were physical with anyone in that way.    
  
Maintaining your sensibility, you stood up, pushing your chair back, grabbing your mug, and shaking your head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”    
  
Turning to go back into the kitchen, you heard him trailing behind you, practically breathing down your neck. “Why not?”    
  
“Oh, I don’t know,” you began facetiously. “Maybe it has to do with the fact that you want to kill me?”    
  
“Why would you think that?”    
  
After rinsing your mug and placing it in the sink, you sighed, turning to face him, resting your palms on the counter behind you to ground yourself. “You openly admitted that you’re here to destroy the world. That includes the people in it. Did it escape you that I’m one of those people?”    
  
“What does that have to do with kissing?”    
  
Scoffing, you glared at him before replying. “What in the hell makes you think that I want to kiss someone who is actively planning the death of me and my loved ones? Are you that dense?”    
  
He smiled wickedly, placing his hands behind his back smoothly before stepping closer to you. “You know… I’m being courteous. I don’t need your permission.”

“Excuse me?” you seethed, losing your patience as you gripped the counter tightly, your knuckles turning white.    
  
“Up until very recently, I was referred to as the Alpha of the warlocks. I am even more powerful than the Supreme of witches. I have proven myself with the tests of the Seven Wonders, and if I were so inclined, I could simply force you to kiss me.”    
  
His words made absolutely no sense. The gears were noticeably turning in your head as you attempted to decipher his last statement. Did he actually just refer to witches and warlocks as if they were normal, everyday terms in which people would commonly use in conversation? Worse yet, did he actually have the capability to make you do whatever he wanted?    
  
“I think you’re full of shit,” you accused, ultimately deciding that he had to be bluffing. “I don’t care how powerful you claim to be.”    
  
It all happened so fast after that. His smirk grew more pronounced as the blue of his eyes turned white before he closed them, concentrating with an intensity that thickened the air in the room. Suddenly, you were filled with a need for him more powerful than you have ever felt for another living being. Your thighs quaked and you held onto the counter for dear life, knowing that if you let go, you would fall to the floor in a heap of hormones.    
  
Your breathing was shallow as your body thrummed for him, feeling elated once he opened his eyes and crept towards you. Your mind was screaming at you to run. This was a terrifying experience, and even though you mentally had no desire to kiss him in that moment, your body was aching for him.    
  
Embarrassment flooded through you as he cupped your cheek, causing you to emit a needy whine, your skin igniting under his touch as your bones turned to jello. You leaned into him as if he was all that was keeping you anchored to this world.    
  
He placed a finger under your chin, tilting your head up and inching closer so that his lips were millimeters from yours. You shivered, anxiously anticipating the sensation and taste of his lips again, but also desperate to get away, not at all enjoying the feeling of having no control. 

He brushed the tip of his nose over your own, causing you to release a breath that you didn’t know you were holding. You closed your eyes, knowing that you were now putty in his hands and he was going to do with you whatever he wanted, regardless of your protests.    
  
“No.”   
  
His word caught you off guard as you opened your eyes and were relieved and simultaneously disappointed that he was now stepping back from you, a curious gleam in his eyes. “No?” you questioned, your voice wrecked.

Tracing his fingertips over your lips, he spoke gently. “When I kiss you again, it will be because you want to of your own accord. Not because I have forced you.”

“I… don’t see that happening” you breathed, trying to sound confident, when in reality you were unsure.    
  
That damn smirk graced his full lips again as he stared down at you, your chest pressed against his. Finally, he stepped back, allowing your head to gain a bit more clarity as you took another deep breath. 

“Thank you for the tea,” he uttered, taking your hand in his and lifting the back of it to his lips.. “And for the company. I’ve enjoyed speaking with you.” He then placed a delicate kiss to the top of your hand before setting it down, and leaving the kitchen without another word, leaving you dazed. 

The following day you had left early to go to work, worried what kind of shenanigans your aunt and Michael would get into, especially once she presented him to her crazy congregation that he was the AntiChrist.    
  
As soon as work was over, you stopped by the grocery store to pick up some pastries, knowing that today was their weekly potluck dinner and that everyone who attended was expected to bring something. Though you weren’t a member of the church, they always welcomed you with open arms and embraced your generosity when you often took the time to help them with random projects every now and again. Your aunt had been a life-long member, and most of the people who attended had known you since you were a child. 

Pastries in hand, you made your way over to the church, curious to see the reactions of those who now knew Michael’s secret. 

* * *

It was almost too easy to reveal Michael as the Antichrist to the members of the Satanic church. After Madelyn had interrupted someone else’s Black Mass, she insisted that the honor should go to Michael instead. When Hannah, the High Priestess, asked why Michael should get the chance to sell his soul before another, Madelyn proclaimed that Michael didn’t need to sell his soul. He was their dark savior, and he was there to bring about the end times. 

Michael had proven himself simply by showing the Mark of the Beast behind his ear. Hannah confirmed his identity to the congregation and they celebrated by offering Michael the honor of completing the Black Mass, to which he happily obliged. 

Once they were finished, they proceeded into the dining hall for their weekly potluck, showering Michael with praise and home-cooked meals, anxious to hear his thoughts. 

“Is it too spicy?” Madelyn asked, cringing as she sat by his side at the table, surrounded by the others as he tried one of their dishes. 

“No, it’s good.”

Hannah breathed a sigh of relief as she threw her hands up into the air with praise. “Thank the Dark Lord! It’s my mother's recipe!”

“Try the macaroni salad!” one of the others insisted. 

“No! The turkey meatballs!” another begged. 

In awe of his presence, Hannah flexed her fingers as they crept near his head. “May I touch your hair?”

Taken aback by the odd request, and noticing Michael’s off-put facial expression, Madelyn snapped at the others, “Let the kid eat!” She turned to address Michael, suddenly second guessing her wording. “Or… is something wrong? What can we get you? What can we do?”

He looked around awkwardly, not knowing how to handle the situation at hand. “I… just think everyone should do what you normally do. Have fun. Enjoy your Wednesday potluck dinner like always.”

Once again scolding the onlookers, Madelyn bellowed, “You heard him! Our guest of honor eats at his own pace!”

A few of them released disappointed groans, but they scattered, leaving Michael in peace while they mingled amongst one another. Madelyn grinned at the Antichrist, hoping to make more conversation with him. “I can personally vouch for the spinach lasagna. It would be the honor of my life to watch you eat it.” 

Michael met her smile with a forced one of his own to pacify her, pushing his current dish aside and reaching for her lasagna. “So, what happens next?” Madelyn asked eagerly, intently watching his every move. 

Fork in hand, he raised it for emphasis before replying. “Probably your lasagna.”

She released a genuine laugh, caught off guard by his sense of humor. “No, I meant on the global annihilation front,” she clarified through her giggles before composing herself and becoming serious once more. “What do we do first? When do we do it?”

Leaning in closer to her and speaking in a hushed tone, he replied, “I’m not sure…”

All humor was instantly eradicated from her expression. “What do you mean you’re not sure?”

“I don’t know what to do... where to begin.”

“But…,” she faltered, trying to find the right words. “You’re the AntiChrist…”

“Which people won’t let me forget,” he snapped, rage apparent in his icy eyes as he gripped the edge of the table, slowly lifting to his feet in anger. “Everyone keeps saying that I’m special - that I’m the only one who can bring about the end times, but nobody gave me a  _ fucking  _ instruction manual!” He was now right in Madelyn’s face, pausing for a moment as he realized that his voice had increased in volume as his anger bubbled to the surface, threatening to boil over. His body was quivering with fury as he continued on. “And the one person who would always help me and who I could always turn to for advice… she’s gone now.”

He composed himself, taking a seat, unable to stop the tears spilling over his eyes as he choked out, “I have no one…”

Madelyn’s expression crumpled as her heart ached for the sad Antichrist. Just as she was about to emit some encouraging words, a commotion came from the other side of the room. Both Madelyn and Michael looked over to see her niece being welcomed by the congregation, a box of pastries in hand with a smile on her face. 

Glancing back at Michael, Madelyn noticed an immediate change in his demeanor. His eyes lit up as genuine excitement graced his features. He used his sleeve to quickly wipe away the tears that stained his cheeks to make himself more presentable. 

Madelyn wasn’t a fool. She understood exactly what was going on, and it sparked an idea.

Sliding out of her chair, she kneeled next to Michael, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Michael. I need you to listen to me.” Ripping his eyes away from the captivating woman across the room, he focused on Madelyn as she spoke with such intensity, it surprised even him. “You are the son of Satan. There is no  _ one  _ or no  _ thing  _ you cannot have.”


End file.
